


The Man in Black

by gleamingandwholeanddeadly (something_safe), printersdeadly, printersdevils (tuesdaysgone)



Category: Casino Royale (2006), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, The Big C (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Lee, Character Death Fix, Gloves, Le Chiffre/Lee, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Rarepair, Safer Sex, Sugar Daddy, Vacation Hookup, bad yoga euphemisms, not-exactly-fisting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 00:28:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20000983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/something_safe/pseuds/gleamingandwholeanddeadly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/printersdeadly/pseuds/printersdeadly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaysgone/pseuds/printersdevils
Summary: Lee takes a holiday at a health resort. He meets a very interesting man there.





	The Man in Black

There is a soft snowfall of blossom petals falling through the open roof of the bar, a steady stream that tumbles into dark, glassy water beneath and slowly drifts away under the decking. Lee is hypnotised by it still, even after what feels like many hours of alternating drinking Thai beer and swimming in the pool.

Like ink soaking cloth, the evening draws in, and with it a few other bar patrons in the otherwise sterile, serene environment. Their attire starts to morph from cabana wear to dinnerwear, leaving Lee as one of the few holdouts in wrinkled white linen.

They're lucky he's not still in his board shorts, even if he is leaning somewhat heavily on the bar. They're lucky he's not still in his yoga pants. That's the most energy he's had all day. It might have something to do with the Thai beer; it's strong, and Lee is very determined not to spend this holiday sober. Not that it's technically a holiday - more of a guest spot, but it means afternoons and evenings off, PT sessions excluded. His yoga students have seemed satisfied thus far; he's kept the sessions simple due to their various recovery needs.

Some of them have seemed more than satisfied, truth be told: Lee finds it difficult not to flirt, he always has. It's making him the object of a few lingering looks, here at the bar. He smiles to himself at the thought: his bucket list is getting shorter. He ought to add something to it. Someone, maybe.

He looks in the mirror over the bar, running his finger absently around the rim of his glass. For all that this is a health resort, there are still plenty of couples. Mostly the rich and glamorous, detoxing and dieting and relaxing. It’s not his usual scene, certainly, this job came on the recommendation of a friend, but he'd needed the change after so much time in Minneapolis. So much time being cold.

It’s not cold here, ever. It’s balmy and jasmine-scented, and overhead stars wink in the window of sky.

In the corner of the bar, there's a man like a spot of midnight, another window of darkness. Lee watches him in the mirror for a moment, all in dark silk, sticking out like a sore thumb. He doesn't look happy, or relaxed, or angry either. He looks - blank. Carefully so. He looks rent from shadows. Lee's not usually one for shadows - he’s had enough for one lifetime - but sometimes he gets drunk, and the craving rears its head.

Two men flank his subject of study, casual enough but for the way their drinks are untouched and their eyes rarely still. Lee entertains himself at the thought of foreign nobility, or some kind of high-fashion vampire, maybe. He's distracted from his musing when the bartender sets a martini down in front of him lightly, and offers, "Compliments of Monsieur Le Chiffre."

Lee glances back up at the mirror, meets a steady gaze this time; the shadow man himself.

"Thank you," he tells the bartender, raising the glass to the shadow in the mirror before taking a drink. He wonders if he's about to gain a companion, or if he's expected to present himself. The level of presumption gives him a bit of a thrill. "What do you think?" he asks the barkeep. "Do I go running after one drink?"

She laughs. "Do you want to?"

Lee glances in the mirror again. His admirer is on a cellphone now, talking quickly, but his eyes stay fixed on Lee’s in the reflection. Something cruel in the angle of his mouth as he talks stirs Lee’s curiosity further; he wonders who he’s talking to.

"Hm, I don't know. Looks like he might like to wait."

"If you say so."

"I'd love another martini though," Lee adds, and she fills the glass from the shaker with a smile.

After all the beer, he certainly doesn't need another martini, at least not to make more eye contact with the man in the mirror. He wonders if the man's name was supposed to mean anything to him. He glances at his reflection again, intrigued, and finds the seat empty.

"Well, shit," he murmurs to himself, and then jumps at a voice in his ear.

"May I sit?"

Oh. He's come to Lee.

"Please," he murmurs, eyes climbing up and down quickly. Pristine is the word that springs to mind: clean shaven, clean cut, with a knife-like quality to him. Less knife-like is the jagged scar that has damaged his cornea, but he makes up for it with a designer jacket and a level stare. "How’s it going?" Lee greets amiably, tilting his cheek into his open palm, leaning on the bar.

"At the risk of sounding gauche," he murmurs, "I haven't seen you at the resort before. May I introduce myself?"

"I'd like that very much."

"Jean Duran," he replies, holding out a manicured hand.

"Lee Fallon. Thank you for my drink, Mister Duran."

"My pleasure. Would you like to finish it at a table with me?"

"That sounds good." Lee gets up, following the shadow - Jean, he said - back to the booth where the two “casual bystanders” pretend to nurse their drinks. Lee absolutely is not going to ask about them. He's curious, though. Curious enough that self-preservation has slipped a couple of rungs down on the ladder of his priorities.

Jean doesn't mention them either; he just slides into the booth next to Lee and taps their glasses gently together.

"Cheers," Lee murmurs, taking a sip.

"Tell me why I haven't seen you before, Lee Fallon."

"I'm not usually here. I'm a yoga instructor here on a temp contract, I have a friend who's a client here, put in a good word."

"Yoga," Jean repeats. "No, I wouldn't have seen you there."

"No? You should try it some time. Very relaxing. I do PT sessions too."

No visible reaction to that, despite how thickly he’d laid it on. "How long have you been teaching?"

"Years. What about you? What do you do, something to do with numbers, hm?" He gets a narrow look, and Lee shrugs. "I speak French, Jean." He glances at the security and back, raising his eyebrows.

"I'm in business," is all Jean says.

"Mm, I bet. On vacation?"

"For health reasons."

"I hope you feel better soon."

"That's not how asthma works, but thank you, Lee."

Lee gives him a grim smile. He'd have killed to just have asthma way back when. And he's not going into that either.

"I'd like to make an educated guess you haven't eaten yet," Jean says, sipping his drink.

"Very educated of you."

"I'm an educated man. Would you care to join me for dinner?"

Lee glances down at his loose shirt and trousers. "I'd love to, but I'm not really dressed for dinner."

"We could go to my suite. No dress code there."

The invitation isn't really a surprise. Lee takes a moment to decide if he's interested. "Will I be asked to sign a non-disclosure agreement and not released until the next morning?" he asks, sweetly. He lets his eyes flick deliberately to the two bodyguards, then.

Jean considers him silently for a moment, and then gestures to the two men, who immediately rise and leave the bar.

"I guess that's a no," Lee muses.

"It's a no," Jean confirms.

"I'm not really into exhibitionism anyway," Lee grins.

"A shame." There's a faint twinkle in his eye at that.

"Okay, that might be a lie. I'm just not sure yet if you're gonna find out." Now Lee is definitely flirting.

"You will let me know if I qualify?" Jean stands, draining his glass smoothly and then straightening his jacket.

"It would only be fair." Lee accepts the hand extended to him and stands. As he glances around, he notices a few pairs of eyes trailing them, and feels his interest piqued. Either he's more popular than he realized, or Jean is well-known.

Or... the opposite. The bodyguards would probably suggest the opposite. Interesting. Lee turns his attention back to the mysterious 'Le Chiffre' as they walk through the quiet gardens, toward the great apartment suites on the other side of the complex.

Truly, he's worth the attention. Lee likes the way he moves. Serpentine, smooth and precise, from the way he walks to how he gestures to the doorman and speaks quick, fluent Thai. When they get to his suite, he picks up the bound room service menu and hands it to Lee. "Choose anything you'd like. I'll open a bottle of champagne."

"My favorite sentence," Lee quips, but he can't keep from looking around the suite with wide eyes. He's never seen anything so luxurious. Certainly doesn't have quite the same vibe as the rest of the temple-like rooms. Lee wonders if he brought some of his own things in. "How long do you usually holiday for?" he asks casually. "I assume you've been here before?"

"However long I need to recuperate, this is my suite. As you can see I've had it modified as I do not enjoy sleeping on napkins."

"Eye for the finer things, check," Lee murmurs.

"Just the one," Jean says dryly, opening a bottle with a pop.

Lee bites his lip. God, a joke. He wasn't sure the man was capable. "Very good, Monsieur," he teases, stepping closer to accept a chilled glass when Jean holds it out. Jean taps them together gently. "Thank you." Lee takes a sip.

"Thank you for joining me, cheri."

"You're welcome.”

They’re interrupted by a loud trilling sound, and Jean holds up an apologetic hand and moves away to answer his phone, walking into the next room to muffle his conversation. Despite knowing better, Lee can’t help but listen anyway. It’s mostly quickfire Russian, or something similar, low and clipped, until -

_“Je vais te tuer, tu comprends?”_

Even if Lee hadn't understood those words, the tone would still speak for itself: pure venom. He feels his heart race slightly at the first spike of uneasy fascination. The conversation continues a few moments longer, and then he hears Jean hang up; swear softly.

He reappears at the bedroom door with his irritation barely concealed, a hand plucking a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his phone clean.

“My apologies, Lee.”

“No need. Your mom?”

A faint laugh at that, pointedly casual.

“Worse. My employee.”

Smiling faintly in consternation, Lee hands Jean back his discarded champagne flute. “So. Have you been watching me a while?"

"Tonight, or before?" Jean asks mildly.

"Oh, so before?"

"You're a very attractive man, Lee."

"An eye for the finer things indeed," Lee quips.

"How fine are you?" The amused sparkle resurfaces.

"Why don't you find out?"

"I will. After we eat." Jean hands him the room service menu again.

"I would like the tofu," Lee grins, watching Jean's expression for signs of dismay. He sees none, merely a nod. Jean crosses to the phone and orders for them in more flawless Thai.

When he's done, he sips his drink. "So, tell me about yourself."

"I'm an oenophile," Lee replies easily. "It's either one of my best or worst qualities, depending on your own leanings."

"I appreciate good wine, and good taste. What else are you?"

"Lots of things. Any particular areas of interest?"

"All of them."

"That could take a while," Lee says, sipping his champagne.

"I was hoping it would."

"Are you sharing also, Monsieur Duran?" Lee replies pertly.

"I might have to get out the nondisclosure agreement for that." He gives him a smile.

"I'm sure some of it isn't confidential," Lee teases. "Do you like music? Theatre? Sports?"

"Yes." It's a knock back, but a joking one. Jean gives him a smile like he's pleased with himself before he adds, "swing, cinema, and - well, I prefer watching to participating." He takes out an inhaler as he speaks and shakes it lightly.

"Of course." Lee smiles. He watches him take a puff. "I'm an open book, really," Lee tells him.

"And yet, you're avoiding answering me."

"Maybe over dinner," Lee murmurs, strolling over to Jean's balcony.

Jean's silence is considering. His footsteps approach, crisp on the marble floor. "Have you changed your mind, Lee?" He enquires, voice careful.

Lee thinks back to his threatening tone on the phone call, dismisses it as some sort of misunderstanding. "No, I haven't."

"All right." Leaning his hip against the balcony, Jean looks out over the complex, bordered by lush mountain forests. "Do you enjoy nature?"

"I enjoy looking at it, while sitting in a lounger, as pretty young things bring me drinks," Lee laughs.

"Prettier and younger than you? Dangerous territory."

"I was an international terror at one time," Lee says, preening a bit at the sharpening of the dark eye.

"I'm sure you're still breaking hearts with startling efficiency."

"Well, when you've got a natural talent, why not use it?" Lee jokes lightly.

"Why not indeed. It seems like you've been honing your skills at the resort, certainly."

"God forbid I get rusty." Lee takes a step closer to Jean.

"Well quite." He watches Lee, expression curious. What he doesn't do is ask why Lee's chosen him to hone his skills on. He has far too much confidence for that.

"Aren't you hot? No casual Friday in the palace?" Lee asks.

Jean raises an eyebrow at him. "Is that an attempt to undress me?"

"God, not much finesse to that is there? More to loosen you up. Here." He reaches out slowly to slip off Jean's dinner jacket. The shoulders beneath the fine cotton shirt are tense but still. "Okay, that felt a little bit like taking a jacket off a corpse, but we got there." Lee goes to hang it up on the back of a chair and then returns, holding a hand out for Jean's, starting to roll his shirt cuff. "Honestly, you should consider some yoga, you got a lot of tension. This is a retreat, not a charity ball."

Jean laughs softly. It surprises Lee into stopping mid-roll.

"He laughs!" he exclaims, handing Jean his cufflinks and moving on to the next sleeve. The links are heavy, obviously solid gold, and in the shape of an ace of spades. Surprisingly whimsical, Lee thinks. With the black shirt a little less obviously constraining him, Jean still looks severe, if amused. "Are you a gambling man, Monsieur Le Chiffre?" Lee asks.

"You could say that."

"I see." And he can.

Jean tilts his head. "Et tu?"

"Only with my life," Lee says dryly.

"Pray tell?"

"I had cancer," Lee says, leaning on the rail again. "Signed up for every clinical trial I could find. Eventually one worked. Long odds, that."

"Expensive odds too, I'd hazard."

"Well, I'm working for a living again," Lee replies.

"Mm." Jean looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn't. Instead, he looks Lee over. "You're looking well now."

"Relatively," Lee agrees.

"Still bad days?"

"Low energy," Lee corrects. "It's getting better."

"I'm glad to hear that."

A discreet knock sounds on the door. Jean looks briefly irritated at being interrupted, but he detaches himself to go and open the door, gesturing to the table. Lee takes a seat, waiting for Jean to join him. He hovers for a while though, watching the server set up their meals and replenish the mini bar before he withdraws. Then, Jean comes to join him. He smiles politely as he seats himself.

"Bon appetít."

"Merci beaucoup," Lee replies. Jean smiles, starting to delicately pick at his dinner. Lee follows suit - it's a beautiful vegetarian meal but it's not nearly as interesting as his dinner companion. "So you're here on respite?"

"It's my preferred retreat," Jean answers.

"I figured, from the suite. And what do you do when you're not here?"

"I travel, for my business interests."

"Am I going to get zipped up if I ask what those are? Something with numbers, I'm guessing."

"International shipping," Jean replies. "Many numbers involved."

Lee tilts his head. "Mhmm."

"I am a busy man," Jean murmurs. "Perhaps I should try your yoga after all."

"I think you'd like it. I'm a very good teacher."

"I might want private instruction," Jean replies.

"I am amenable to that." And he really is.

Jean gives him an imperious smile. "Generous."

"I'm an easy going guy," Lee tells him.

"Certainly seems that way. How do you manage it?"

Lee laughs. "Meditation? Near-death reprieve? Alcohol?"

"I think I could manage one of those, maybe."

"How conscientious of you," Lee teases.

"I try. Where in America are you from?"

"Here and there," Lee says.

Jean's eyes narrow incrementally despite his smile. "You're making me work very hard."

"It's true!" Lee protests, laughing. "I haven't lived anywhere longer than six months or so in years."

"Where do you live now?"

"My things are in storage back in Minnesota. I'll probably move on when I go back."

"Where to?"

"Someplace warm, I think. LA? New Mexico? I haven't really decided."

"Impulsive, mm?"

Lee spreads his hands. "Guilty as charged."

Jean hums thoughtfully. "I think it's to my benefit, tonight."

"Difficult conversation aside?"

"I've had more difficult," Jean says dryly.

"I'm intensely flattered."

"I hope it becomes easier when we return to the subject of how desirable you are," Jean says evenly.

"'Desirable'. Sounds like you're gonna farm my DNA or something - which is not something I'd advise, for the record." Lee grins.

"I'd rather fuck you," Jean retorts, voice crisp.

Lee pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth, mouth slightly open. He recovers with a faint laugh of delight.

"Well, that's promising." He trades fork for glass and takes a sip of his champagne. "Wouldn't have pictured you as the crude language sort, Jean."

"Sometimes politeness can clog conversation; cloud intentions. I like to be clear."

"It was clear," Lee tells him appreciatively. He takes another drink. "But first, tell me when you noticed me, because it seems you've had a head start on me."

He meets the man's mismatched gaze steadily. Jean considers, chewing slowly, then swallowing and going for his glass. "A week ago."

"And you've been biding your time because?"

"I'm patient."

He's patient, and Lee's, well... slutty. He's slept with at least one other guy in the past week. "You wanted to check me out," he surmises.

Jean just tilts his head, dabbing gently at the corner of his eye with a handkerchief before tucking it into his pocket.

"You're impulsive. I am not."

"And if I'd stayed at the bar by myself tonight?"

"I calculated it unlikely."

Lee grins. "What were the odds?"

"Slim to none."

"You are good with numbers," Lee purrs. "I don't know if I could have resisted."

"You're a sensation seeker. You'd rather take a risk than miss out."

"What sensations do you have on offer, Monsieur?"

Jean smiles. "What sensations do you like best, Lee?"

"Oh, it depends on the day, Jean. Being spoiled, or being used," Lee murmurs.

"Used?" Jean raises his eyebrows.

"Surely you're familiar with the concept?" Lee can't imagine otherwise.

"Anything other than spoiling you feels sacrilegious."

"I'm not that breakable."

"Fragility has nothing to do with deserving."

"My many anonymous bathroom hookups might disagree."

Jean's lips purse at that. "Why do you say that? Are you selfish, Lee?"

"Not at all."

"Then what are you?"

"What are you?" Lee snips back.

"I'm indulgent."

"And what do you expect in return?"

"Only willing. Communication. Discretion."

"That sounds like more than an evening's assignation to me," Lee replies.

"As opposed to what? A bathroom stall?"

"I suppose you're too good for that." Lee's not sure why he's feeling so prickly all of a sudden.

Jean lifts his chin; angles his jaw, incising his tone. "Yes," he says, simply.

"Well, I'm not. If you can't handle that, I might need to leave."

Jean's brows quirk, faintly surprised. "Do you think I'd have invited you to dinner if I'd found your sexual habits unappealing? Preference notwithstanding, it was not a criticism of you. However, if you feel so strongly..." he gestures.

Lee feels a bit as if his bluff has been called. He should have expected it. The man must be a terror behind a poker table. He's silent for a moment, gathering himself. "Just getting the cards on the table."

"That is not usually the objective of the game," Jean chuckles.

"I don't know much about cards, sorry," Lee snickers.

"I can see that."

"I'd ask you to teach me, but I think we both have another after-dinner activity in mind."

"I try not to mix business with pleasure, in any case," Jean informs him.

"Are you a professional gambler too, then?"

"After a fashion."

"Well. Then let's stick to pleasure."

"Very well." Jean smiles. "Finish your dinner," he orders politely.

Lee smiles at his plate and nods. He thinks perhaps they might figure one another out after all.

Presumably bored with his meal, Jean stands after a few minutes to go retrieve another bottle of champagne, assuredly still, comfortable. He sets a hand on Lee's shoulder as he pours. "How's your dinner?"

"It's very good," Lee replies.

"Good." The hand lingers for a moment before he fills Lee’s glass and reseats himself.

Lee smiles at his plate, intrigued, a little apprehensive - but in a suffused, low-lit way. If Jean's the sugar-daddy type, he's not like any others that Lee's dealt with before. Those men had wanted to be serviced for their trouble. But according to their earlier spat, Jean seems to want to spoil. Not that Lee can entirely blame him. If he were rich, he might want the same thing. But he's not - and he's certainly not particularly swayed by material things.

No, Jean had the right idea when he'd mentioned sensation seeking. And Lee has a feeling he's quite the experience. His stomach coils with anticipation.

"Dessert?" Jean asks.

"Maybe later," Lee murmurs.

"Something else?"

"You could touch me again," Lee says after a pause.

"Another demonstration of your selfless generosity."

"Well, if you don't want to..."

Jean raises his pale brows again, affecting innocence. "If I don't want to...?"

"I suppose we could take a walk on the beach," Lee hums.

"Perhaps later." He picks up his glass, and the bottle. "Come."

Lee follows suit, curious. He stops in the bedroom as Jean diverts into the en suite with a soft ‘excuse me’, the sounds of water running and drawers opening comfortable background noise as Lee looks around. Jean's bedroom is palatial in comparison to his own here, chic and dark and plush. There's a chess board on the balcony, and a rather mercenary looking desk at the window, home to several monitors. They are, of course, all dark, and Lee doesn't linger on them. He does study the balcony for a moment. There's a game in progress.

"Who are you playing?" he asks, wandering to inspect the pieces. Behind him, he senses Jean’s arrival at the French doors.

"A friend, long distance."

"Whose turn is it?"

"Mine. He can wait."

Lee bites his lip, sitting decisively in the seat behind the dark army, moving to capture the opposition's knight succinctly. He sits back then, sipping his drink and flashing his host his most winning smile.

Jean, for the first time, looks a bit startled. "Are you sure I'm playing black?" he inquires evenly, stepping between Lee’s knees.

"I calculated it likely," he purrs. "Are you interested in a game, Monsieur Le Chiffre?"

There's a long silence, long enough that doubt creeps into Lee's mind. Then, Jean puts his hands on the arms of the chair and kneels before him. "Not this kind."

"What kind?"

"Do you really need to ask, Lee?" He doesn't wait for an answer, just reaches to touch Lee's hips with incredibly delicate hands.

Licking his lips, Lee lets himself be coaxed forward on the seat. He takes a shaky breath as Jean unfastens his trousers.

He palms over the linen, first. His hands are cool and sure as he shapes Lee gently with his hand, lashes down, expression perfectly patient. He's not breathing hard, or moving quickly. He's just stroking Lee, raising his chin to meet his gaze.

"What are you going to do with that?" Lee asks, steadily.

"What would you like me to do with it?"

"That depends."

"Do tell."

"I'm not saying I'm impatient -"

"Yes, you are," Jean interrupts mildly. "Perhaps you ought to be a good boy and let me continue?"

Lee takes a short, surprised breath and then nods. So soft-voiced and reasonable. Such gentle hands. He smiles faintly, and starts to roll Lee's slacks down. He's foregone underwear, and he's suddenly glad he has. Jean's expression shifts from surprised to amused, but he doesn't linger, fingers immediately finding warm skin.

It's absolutely no hardship to hold still for that. Lee shivers and clasps the arms of the patio chair, vaguely hoping no one can see them. The other part of him doesn't care if they can. Jean certainly doesn’t seem to, stroking him firm with quick motions, pausing to concentrate his strokes at the head of his cock every now and then. Lee can’t take his eyes off his soft, red mouth, so close to his cock.

He nearly whines when Jean pulls away - another polite ‘excuse me’. He steps through the balcony door and returns with a condom seconds later, rolling it on with a quick and practiced motion. Lee doesn't protest, just watches breathless as Jean's sleek head dips with a long, sinking suck.

Lee sighs out a shaky breath. "Fuck," he touches his hair, stomach tensing.

Jean hums, movements steady. He's shockingly good, completely confident, nearly ruthless. Lee lets his head fall back, hips lifting into it. It feels endless, dragging him headlong into unexpected pleasure. He’s so hard now, Jean’s lips moving fast and slick. Every few strokes he stops and pulls back, fingers holding the condom at the base, and focuses on the head. Even through thin latex, Lee is straining; groaning. It’s a shock when he realises that he could come at any moment, like this, so soon.

"God-" he bites his lip. "My god, Jean." A low, amused hum at that. "My recovery time isn't what it used to be," he groans, needing to warn.

Pulling back, Jean looks up at him, considering. "And if I told you I wanted you to wait? Until I told you?"

Lee stares down at him, lips wet and swollen with blood flow and friction. "Then I'll do my best," he whispers. He watches Jean smile.

"You will, won't you?" Lee nods, licking his lips compulsively. "Very good. Wait." Jean bows his head to tongue at the head of Lee's cock once more.

Lee shivers. His hands tighten on the arms of the chair once more, and he focuses on his breathing. Slow and steady despite Jean's lips sliding hot and slick down the shaft of his cock again. Meditation is good for something. Even so, it's a strain on his nerves. He's not sure if he's allowed to touch. Jean doesn't look like he should be touched.

Lee just breathes and lets himself make soft, appreciative noises. Steadily more concerned at his own willpower, he shifts, thighs twitching as pleasure builds. He's a little drunk, a lot turned on; it's a challenge.

"Jean," he murmurs, a little pleading. The knowing flicker of his gaze. "Do you want me to beg?" Lee asks.

Jean hums as he pulls off with a wet suck. "Already?"

"I'm just asking."

"You can beg if you think it will help."

"What if I ask to move to that big bed of yours?"

"I thought you said 'beg'." He fists Lee’s cock smoothly as they talk, insultingly casual.

"I'm asking politely," Lee murmurs. "Please."

"Hm," Jean considers. Then he nods. "Go, and undress," he murmurs.

Lee strips his shirt off where he's sat; rises and leaves his pants and shoes where they're spilled on the floor. He doesn't look back at Jean for a moment as he gathers himself, just pads to the king size bed. When he lets himself, Jean is holding the tie Lee stripped off him before dinner. He pauses by the bed, eyebrows raised.

"Thoughts, Lee?"

"I have lots of those," Lee breathes.

"Good thoughts? Bad thoughts?"

"Depends what you're going to do with that."

Jean tilts his head. "What's not okay to do with it?"

"I'm not into choking," he says. “Anything else is okay."

A nod at that. Jean comes toward him and reaches for his hands, pulling him close.

"Do you kiss?" Lee breathes.

"I kiss," Jean confirms.

"Kiss me."

He touches Lee's jaw delicately, their hips snug, Lee’s cock dragging wet against those crisp black slacks. Lee leans in, feeling fingertips touch through his beard. Jean tastes of champagne and Lee, something he could entirely get used to. His kiss is like a negotiation. Careful but entirely sure, his confidence intoxicating. When he cups the nape of Lee's neck, he feels his knees threatened by the shivers. He knows he's about to be utterly taken over.

When Jean pulls back, he kisses Lee's hands gently, and then holds the tie up. "Yes or no?"

"Yes," Lee murmurs.

Jean helps him onto the bed with a gracious hand offered; holds his hands out for Lee's. Lee gives them over. Watches with intrigue as Jean binds them, comfortable but secure.

"Keep them over your head," Jean tells him. "I will fasten them if you cannot."

Lee knows he can. He lifts them over his head, nestling them into the pillows. He gets comfortable, and Jean watches with a smile.

His smile is an indulgent thing. "Beautiful," he praises, reaching out to give Lee a lazy stroke with his hand. Lee could purr.

"Thank you."

"Entirely my pleasure."

"Mm, a little of mine."

"Not just a little," Jean echoes.

Lee touches his tongue against his teeth and arches into another teasing upstroke. He watches Jean through half-lidded eyes. He seems almost frustratingly calm. His only sound is the slight rasp of his breathing. Lee arches, letting his thighs bow open, and Jean wets his lips on a smile.

"Good," he says softly. It startles a little gasp out of Lee. Jean takes advantage to skim his thumbs up the bared skin. It makes Lee shiver.

He's holding Lee's thighs wide, digging into the tendons. Then he dips to lick up the underside of his cock again, barely there. Lee sighs, overcome by his delicacy.

"You look entirely too much like a painting to be this kinky," he murmurs.

"A painting?"

"Yes, something moody and beautiful." He flexes his hands within the confines of his bindings.

"Lee, cheri. How fanciful."

"I'm a fanciful guy."

Jean, he senses, is not. He makes a considering noise before he sucks Lee again, longer strokes now, still slow. Lee makes a low noise of appreciation.

When Jean pulls back, he scoots to the bedside and opens the drawer, movements quiet. Lee watches, curious but unconcerned. When Jean starts to pull on a nitrile glove, he's even more curious.

"Stay still," Jean instructs softly.

"Yes, doctor," Lee grins crookedly.

"Clearly you know the procedure. On your side, please."

Lee considers, and then nods, shifting into position, faintly thrilled by the clinical hand on his side as Jean settles behind him. He looks over his shoulder to watch his face; the way he looks intent, hair falling into his eyes, shading the pale one. He kisses Lee's shoulder and hums.

"This is what you want?"

“Yes.”

“Tell me. Tell me what I can do for you.”

"I want… I want you to make me feel good… sir," he murmurs.

He hears Jean's breath catch at the word, and then the click of a bottle opening; a slippery finger pressing between his cheeks, caressing until Lee nods for him to ease inside. The intrusion is slick and purposeful. Lee arches into it, grateful when Jean's chin comes back to his shoulder, motions gentle.

“More.”

Humming agreeably, Jean presses in a second alongside the first, sinking in slow. He’s slow, then picking up pace with beckoning, twisting motions.

At Lee’s first low whine, he chuckles.

"Good?"

"It's good, Jean," he confirms weakly. Jean's fingers are unerring with their angle, their touch firm.

He turns his wrist and presses deep, and Lee chokes on his breath. "Gloves are novel," he gasps.

"Are they?" he says, voice pleasant and polite.

"Outside an exam room," Lee clarifies.

"I always use them," Jean replies, unruffled.

"Oh," Lee chokes on another groan as he hits something that makes him flash hot, "safety guy -"

"I dislike leaving things to chance," he says quietly. He kisses Lee's throat. Lee just breathes.

When Jean starts to fuck him faster with his fingers, he squirms. He keeps his hands above his head, though. Even when a few more strokes get him moaning. As soon as he makes a sound, Jean shifts back to light strokes.

"Fuck," Lee whines, bridging back for more.

Jean smacks his ass lightly. Then his free hand soothes up Lee's back, to the crop of his hair. "Patience, cheri."

"I don't like that word," Lee complains faintly.

"Beg if you like."

Lee turns his face into his arm, groaning. "Please, Jean, harder?"

Jean adds a finger instead.

"Please," Lee whines. His breath staggers. He whines out another plea, and Jean twists his wrist as he presses faster and deeper. "Yes," he yelps.

He's needy and grateful when Jean slides an arm under his body to gently grip at his neck. He's fucking him at a fiercer pace now. He sighs happily.

"Perfect," he slurs, spine bridging.

Jean hums musically. "Perfect," he echoes, easing back and then surging his fingers deep and searching again.

Lee's spine bows. He could get used to this. He feels Jean's lips touch the back of his shoulder.

"Beautiful, Lee," he whispers.

Hearing him so collected only makes Lee feel more wild. "Please, please, more," he whispers.

"You sound so pretty," Jean praises.

"You feel pretty," Lee counters.

A soft laugh. "As you say." He pulls back just enough to nudge his little finger in with the others, a questioning press.

Lee gasps and nods, bracing himself for the stretch. He's making a low, continuous noise as Jean pulls back to add more lube, and then he's pushing back in, twisting and pressing. Lee swears under his breath, lifting his hips to give him more room. They shift to a more anchored position. He feels the moment when Jean's knuckles breach him and cries out.

"All right," Jean soothes. His fingertips press against his prostate again as he gently twists his hand. He doesn't push further, but he pulls out nearly all the way before rocking back in again, a harsh cry escaping Lee at the hot rush of need. "Do you want the whole thing?" Jean murmurs.

"Fuck, I don't know if I can-" Lee laughs helplessly.

"You're nearly there," Jean murmurs, twisting gently.

"Oh fuck-" Lee groans.

"Yes or no, cheri. Either is fine."

"Just this is - fine." He could do with being able to walk right if he’s teaching tomorrow.

Jean turns his hand to press on his prostate instead. It evokes a string of swears.

"Jean," Lee begs softly, "you must want something -"

"What do you want? I said you had to ask."

"Can I blow you?" Lee whimpers.

A considering silence. "If you like. No hands though."

Lee moans softly. "Fine."

He practically cries out when Jean pulls his fingers free. It feels pleasantly tender when he sits up, shifting onto his knees over Jean's lap, perpendicular across the bed. He gasps as Jean’s fingers automatically slip back to the cleft of his ass, searching.

"You want to fuck me, yeah?" he breathes.

Jean touches his cheek with his ungloved hand. "So much," he says simply.

Lee undoes his belt and flies carefully with his bound hands, trying to keep his breath even as Jean's fingers tease. The dark slacks cover equally dark briefs. Lee leans down to touch his tongue to the fabric.

"Condoms are in the drawer," Jean tells him, stroking lightly over his hair.

Lee glances up. "Help me out. Please," he adds judiciously.

Obligingly, Jean helps him pull down his briefs enough to free his cock and roll the rubber on. Satisfied, Lee takes the head of his cock into his mouth, to a low noise of approval. Knees spreading and one shoulder back, Jean presses back inside Lee with two lazy fingers, and Lee feels the answering shiver when he whimpers his approval; his answering groan.

Jean's other hand lifts off the mattress and settles on his crown, his cock sliding deeper into the back of Lee’s throat and his stomach muscles quivering with the tension.

"Good boy," he purrs.

It stills works on Lee, to his surprise. He whines around his mouthful. Having his hands bound adds an extra element to this, he thinks. He feels somehow more powerful. And like he's pleasing Jean. He certainly feels like they're mutually in that camp. Jean is so quiet, but just demonstrative enough. His fingers gently thrusting are enough to keep Lee slightly distracted from keeping track. But he shows no signs of removing them.

Lee is fine with that. He feels so open, ready, he'd be aching with nothing inside him. He wants _this_ something inside of him though, warm and thick. He sucks softly at the head, then takes in as much as he can.

Jean's thumb strokes against the velvet of his hair gently. He doesn't push, just touches. Maddeningly gentle. Lee whines again, and with a hum, Jean eases him up off his cock.

"Tell me what you want."

"Want you to fuck me, please," Lee gasps, without missing a beat.

"I would love to," Jean says, one shade of dry. He presses a plush kiss to Lee's lips, strangely delicate. His fingers rub through Lee's hair again.

Sighing, Lee leans up on his knees to touch his shoulders, Jean's gloved hand lingering on his behind. "More lube?" he murmurs.

"I think that's a good idea."

Lee reaches for it. "How do you want me?"

"Do any yoga poses come to mind?" Jean asks.

"Beginner or advanced?"

"Oh, I rather suspect you're advanced."

"But you're not," Lee grins.

"Shouldn't be much of a challenge for a good instructor."

"Downward facing dog," Lee whispers against his lips.

Jean laughs softly. "Even I know that one."

"That makes you advanced too."

Lee covers the condom with more lube and then gently shoulders Jean aside to brace himself on his bound hands. He feels him shift behind him in one fluid motion, one foot on the floor, one knee on the edge of the bed. Taking Lee’s hips in his hands he presses close, the head of his cock hot when it nudges against Lee. Then with a rock of his hips, he thrusts the whole way in.

"Fuck-" Lee arches his hips to accommodate him, breathing hard. Jean's hands are tight, his movements coming smooth and fast, Lee’s body stretched to perfection.

"Holy shit," Lee whispers.

"Still waiting for my word?" Jean murmurs. Lee nods quickly. Jean strokes up and down his flanks. "Good boy."

"Thank you," Lee whispers. It trails off into a moan as Jean thrusts harder.

He hears the click of the lube again, and then cool, slick fingers curl around Lee's cock. "You're enjoying this," he murmurs.

"Are you kidding? Of course I am." He groans it slightly as Jean strokes him off ruthlessly. With the jag of his hips, it's quickly on the verge of becoming too much. His hips quiver as he considers pulling away, but he can't manage it. "Jean -"

"Wait," Jean tells him firmly.

"Yes," he whispers into the coverlet. He groans at the brush of lips on his nape.

Jean's thrusts are ruthless, in contrast. He goes so deep, screwing his hips in, seemingly inexhaustible as he moves inside Lee for what feels like endless minutes. He's still tunneling Lee's cock, loose now. Almost lazily, except nothing Jean does ever seems lazy: he's giving him a reprieve. Keeping him on the edge for longer.

Lee arches his back and savors the stretch and rub of him inside him. He makes a noise of voiceless approval as the thrusts come harder, the angle shifting as Jean gets better traction.

"Jean- please, please-"

"Almost," Jean murmurs.

" _Please_ ," Lee gasps again.

"Almost," Jean repeats. He keeps rocking, quicker now. His breathing has starting to rasp a little. His hands a little more restless. Lee clenches down the best he can and Jean starts to stroke him faster once more. His thrusts are still measured and deep.

"Jean," Lee groans. He twists his head, but Jean holds him still with the press of forehead to nape.

"Say please for me one more time, Lee," he purrs, "make it good."

"S'il vous plait," Lee gasps, bucking back.

That gets him, shockingly, a breathless little chuckle. "Tres bien, cheri." His fingers tighten.

"I can come-?" Lee stutters. He pants until he gets an answer.

"You can."

"Thank you," he whines, fucking forward into a suddenly tight grip.

"De rien." It's whispered into his skin. The rolls of his hips come faster, smoother.

Lee tries to catch his breath and can only gasp as he starts to crest, hot and overwhelming; a surge of electricity. It feels like being treasured, being given something. He moans softly as he shakes though it. Jean kisses the back of his neck and fucks him until it ebbs.

"Jean," Lee pleads.

"Lee?" He smoothes his ungloved hand up his chest.

"Come, please." Jean makes a questioning noise and gives his hips another gentle rock, testing. "I'm fine, please." He cranes back and Jean kisses him softly.

"Then, stay with me, cheri."

"I'm with you, fuck."

Lee has to stroke himself when Jean starts moving again. He's not so gentle this time. Purposeful. Determined. Lee breathes through the overstimulation and lets himself move with the thrusts. It feels so good, euphoric. He lets himself float on another wave of pleasure, nearly as good as before.

Jean grips him tighter. He only makes a few more thrusts before he jerks, stalls, all of it controlled and graceful, a trembling restraint. He doesn't make a sound. Lee folds to the mattress as soon as he's released and pants into the expensive cotton, sweat glossed and flushed.

Hand smoothing gently down his back before he pulls out, Jean removes the condom and glove and then rises to head the bathroom.

Stretching, Lee rolls onto his side with a sigh. He feels exceptionally well-fucked, loose and relaxed.

"I think I can pass you through to an intermediate yoga lesson," he teases gently.

"Do we need a warm down session?" Jean returns with his slacks refastened, his hair smoothed back. He has a hot cloth in hand.

"If you're offering," Lee says, amused by his presentation.

"I am." Jean perches beside him, first using the cloth to wipe his face and neck gently of sweat. He continues the cleansing right down his torso. Lee can't help but give a little shiver at the touch on oversensitive skin. Jean is watching him carefully.

On the bedside, Jean’s phone rings once more. They both look at it, Jean’s expression rueful.

"You want me to leave?" Lee asks softly, but Jean merely leans and cuts the call off, shaking his head.

"Not at all, cheri. Rest, enjoy."

"Take your own advice."

Jean laughs softly. “Very well.”

Pointedly, he props himself on his side, warm against Lee. He pulls the sheet up for him. Lee pillows his head on the silky shirtfront and hopes he doesn't drool. He's exhausted now, the alcohol hitting him. Jean's long fingers gently move through his hair, hypnotic. He seems to enjoy touching, which makes his insistence on protection a bit contradictory.

"Gloves," Lee murmurs, "What's with that?"

"You've never seen it? I find that unlikely."

"Not outside of doctor kink, really, or real-life doctors."

"As I said, I value precautions. I've spent too much of my life in hospitals."

"I feel that," Lee muses. "Never developed a doctor kink though," he adds wryly.

"Neither did I." A small silence, in which Lee is sure they're both remembering past hospital stays. Jean sighs, and kisses Lee's forehead. "Let me get you a drink. Water? More champagne? Are you hungry?"

Lee keeps hold of his shirt and doesn't let him pull back. "Nothing. Stay. Kiss me again."

With a smile, Jean complies. God, Lee can't get enough. His lips are so soft and his kisses firm and thorough. Even the strange, clinical approach to sex has him weirdly charmed. He's never met anyone so careful, and he's been a cancer patient. Careful, and detached. It occurs to him with an affirming glance down that Jean never even took his shoes off.

Weirdness aside, Lee hasn't had such good sex in a long time, he muses sleepily, kisses pulling him again toward unconsciousness. Jean's fingers never stop stroking through his hair, but through the haze, Lee thinks he sees him pick his phone up one more time.

When he wakes again, it's to long fingers of early sun and an empty bed. He stretches, listening for sounds of Jean in the bathroom, or the living area, but there's nothing. Then he sits up and sees a sheet of white paper, folded over and propped on the nightstand next to a glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice. He picks it up with a sigh.

_Lee_ , it begins in a forceful but graceful hand, _I regret very much that a business matter has forced me to leave the resort at this most hackneyed and inopportune moment. I greatly enjoyed your company last night and hope you will accept my apology in the form of using my amenities for the rest of your stay at the resort._

Lee stares at the paper. He looks around, faintly disbelieving, and looks back at the table; yes, there's a key card tucked behind the glass. At the bottom of the note, a post script.

_One minor request - please don't bring any guests to the room. Other than that, help yourself._

_Jean._

Lee spends a few moments sitting very still, holding the paper and deciding how he feels about it. Jean must know that flashy gestures don't mean much to him, so this is either guilt, or... something else. A small, cynical voice calls it a very in-character attempt at control. But why would he bother, unless...

"He wants to see me again," he murmurs, to himself.

Sounds like he has a couple weeks to decide how he feels about that. He settles back down in the bed for a moment, thinking, and then stretches for the phone. The juice was a nice touch, but he'll need something to eat to start the day.

He orders enough for lunch too - he could do with sleeping off his afternoon of drinks before his PT session later. Once that's done with, he can think about whether to move his luggage. He huddles down in the bed, warm and satisfied and only a little hung over. Eyeing the phone on the bedside table, he wonders if Jean will call.

He hums at the thought. He thinks he'd like that. Jean has got him very interested indeed. He hasn't exactly been given the option to make the first move, but Lee can be patient. He's very good at patience.


End file.
